


Transmogrification

by R_R_Fox



Series: The Master and The Padawan [2]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-18 21:45:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18126878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_R_Fox/pseuds/R_R_Fox
Summary: Yoda has seen a possible future, and he knows what he must do to avoid it.  But at what cost?





	Transmogrification

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My mother](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+mother).



_It is the greatest of misconceptions to think knowing a name gives true insight into the reality.  Names of things are not revelations of their essence, but are mere constructs of the mind.  They reflect, not reality, but its shadow._

                                                                                                                                                          Jedi Master Kles Aristo, Deception of the Senses

 

Coruscant 45 BBY

“Master, what was so urgent you felt it necessary to summon me out of bed at dawn?” Dooku asked from the doorway.  “Has the Council wisely decided to rethink its decision, and expel Qui-Gon after all?”

Yoda did not respond to the jest.  “After the Council session, spoke to him, did you?”

“To Qui-Gon?  Yes, of course.  We were up late talking.  _And_ playing cards.  He bested me at sabacc three times, and then _claimed_ he was ‘too tired’ for a game of chess.  But you should try his phasianos.  I forget sometimes what an excellent cook he is—”

“Rethink I have, your latest mission,” Yoda interrupted, abruptly.

Dooku frowned, “You are not sending me to Kubai?”

“No.  Going you are, but immediately you must leave.  Not later as planned.”

Dooku nodded, but his expression was puzzled.  “Of course, Master.  Have the riots gotten worse?”

Yoda looked away.  “Leave now you must, important it is.”

Dooku shrugged, “All right.  I will collect the supplies I need and go.”

“Necessary that will not be.  Already on your ship, waiting everything is, what need you will.  Docking bay P-031.  Proceed there directly you shall.”

“But Master… about Kenobi… I have not yet told him he is chosen.”

“Tell him you would?”

“I would have him go with me to Kubai.”

“Dangerous it will be.  No place for a youngling.”

Dooku shook his head, “I do not agree.  Most younglings, perhaps, but Obi-Wan is mature, obedient, and exceptionally competent.”

“Yes.  But a mission this is, for first training begin?  Little time for teaching, and for establishing a bond.”

“I suppose,” Dooku said, doubtfully.  He gave an embarrassed laugh.  “To tell the truth, I am worried that if I do not select him as a Padawan _now_ , someone else will choose him in my absence.”

“Looking for Padawans, other Masters are.  But, seen him they have, and chosen him they have not.”

“That _is_ true,” Dooku agreed, “but I can’t help but think they will change their minds.”  He laughed again, “I _am_ being foolish.

“But what about Qui-Gon?” Dooku then asked.

This was so close to Yoda’s hidden thoughts that the wizened Master looked at Dooku in startled silence for a moment before responding.  “Not seeking a Padawan he is,” Yoda finally managed.

Dooku looked at him, his brows drawn together in confusion, then smiled, realizing Yoda had misunderstood him.  “No.  _No_.  I _wish_ Qui-Gon would want a Padawan.  Besides, he would _never_ choose a Padawan like Obi-Wan.”  He laughed at the thought.  “They would be like _fire_ and _water_.  What I _meant_ , is, on Kubai I will be unreachable, so how will I supervise him?”

Yoda sighed.  “Worry not, my son.  Keep Qui-Gon out of trouble for you, I will.”

“ _Good luck_!” Dooku snorted.  “Very well, then, the matter is settled.  I will go as you command.  May the Force be with you.”  He bowed and departed the room.

“With you, as well,” Yoda said, softly, to the empty room, his head bowed in grief.

 

 

Yoda was leaning heavily on his gimmer stick, as he walked slowly in the Temple Gardens.

“Taken the hover chair, I should have,” he murmured to himself.  The garden was pleasant; it was one of the smaller ones, dedicated less to flowering plants than to fruits and vegetables for use in the kitchens.  The dark earth was warm beneath his feet, and the air smelled of aromatic herbs.  Yoda, however, could not enjoy it.

The task he was on would not allow it.

Towards the center of the garden, there was an elderly human male, who was down on his knees, carefully tending to the roots of some delicate plants, his gnarled hands deep in the soil.

When Yoda’s shadow fell over him, Sifo-Dyas looked up from his work, and smiled.  “I sensed I might have a visitor today,” Sifo-Dyas said, warmly, “although I did not know it would be you.”

Yoda was silent for a moment.  “If busy you are, return I can—”

“No, I was about done,” Sifo-Dyas said, waving a dismissing hand.  “My joints will appreciate the rest, in any case.”  He brushed his hands, absently, against his Jedi robes as he rose to his feet.  He moved easily, as a much younger man would, but after sitting down on one of the larger stones, he rubbed his wrists with bony fingers, as if to emphasize the truth in what he had said.

Yoda remembered how Sifo-Dyas and Dooku had been inseparable in their youth; brothers could not have been closer, despite their disparate personalities.  But while the years had been kind to Dooku, the same could not be said of his close friend.  In the unkind light of the gardens, the lines of Syfo-Dyas’ face were harshly shadowed, particularly in his brow and about his eyes.  His hair, although not sparse, had long since grizzled to a wolf-gray.  But his eyes, in contrast, were _young,_ for they were a vivid green, the same color of new leaves, undimmed by age, and bright with humor and intelligence.  To Yoda, it seemed his aged and lined face was merely a mask, from which a young man’s eyes looked out.

Those same green eyes were looking clearly at Yoda, waiting patiently for him to speak.  Yoda took his time settling down on the rock nearest to Sifo-Dyas, now that the moment had come, he did not know how to begin.  “Two possible futures, the Force has shown me,” he finally said, looking away.

“What did you see?” Sifo-Dyas asked, unsurprised.

“First, a most likely future, I saw, for unusually clear and detailed, the visions were.  This future, ends in _Darkness_ , it does.  Then, brief flashes of the second future, see did I.  Ends with the defeat of the Darkness by the Light, it does.

“Shown me, the Force has, that in the center, a choice there is.  One _person._ As if a nexus he is.  If intervene I do, the future of Darkness, prevented is.  If nothing I do, the future of Light, prevented is.”

Sifo-Dyas looked at Yoda, intently, “Master Yoda, why do you tell _me_ this?”

“Most gifted in future seeing, you are.”

Sifo-Dyas regarded his hands in his lap, the long fingers still stained by the soil.  “Perhaps I _was_ ,” he admitted, without arrogance.  “I have become aware of a growing darkness, a shadow on the horizon, through which I cannot see, and now my visions are shadows of shadows, cast by flame.  Though, if I must speak the truth, perhaps I have been relieved of a burden.  For most of my life, I have seen futures I could not change, and spoken of things others did not wish to hear.”

Sifo-Dyas looked back up at Yoda, penetratingly. “Master, the Force has shown you a way to stop the Darkness I have glimpsed. Why are you hesitating?”

Yoda’s gray eyes were unfocused, looking away, as if he could see something far off in the distance.  “Hesitate do I, for possible is it not, that deceived I am?”

“Deceived?” Sifo-Dyas repeated, frowning.

“Of the Light, my visions were, certain am I of that.  However, to bring forth the Light is the goal of the Light.  To the fate of individuals, indifferent the Light is.  Perhaps, by following the will of the Force, more suffering I cause?”

“Master Yoda,” Sifo-Dyas said, gently, after a moment, “such things are impossible to know.  With _any_ choice, we may cause terrible suffering to others, for we can never see all consequences of our actions.  While this is true of all, it is perhaps even more true for us; with the power the Force has given us.  But we must not become paralyzed by fear and by doubt.  For choices must always be made; we can never escape choice.”

“More there is.  In the vision of Darkness, all suffering it was not.”

Sifo-Dyas gave Yoda a sharp look, disturbed by the implication.

Yoda shrugged, “Saw it, I did.  Won almost without strife, the Darkness did, and still much good in the Galaxy, there was.  _Better_ than now, in many ways perhaps.  Of the victory of the Light, saw very little did I.  Impossible to know, at what cost it was.”

Sifo-Dyas raised his eyebrows.  “Still, we must _always_ trust in the Force.  So, there is no decision to be made, is there?  But you know this already.”  Sifo-Dyas paused, and then added, perceptively, “There is more.”

Yoda sighed.  He was tempted to deny it, but Yoda knew that would be an insult to their friendship.  “Never _certain_ , outcomes are.  If chose to ignore these visions do I, defeated, the Darkness may still be.  But, if intervene I do, defeated, the light still may be, yet, ensure much suffering in one I love, would I.”

Sifo-Dyas, not wishing to know whom Yoda meant, looked deeply into Yoda’s eyes, which were dark with melancholy.  “Despite this, I believe you have already made your choice.”

“Yes.”

“Master Yoda,” Sifo-Dyas asked, slowly, “if you were not looking for counsel, why then did you come here, to speak with me?”

Yoda looked back into Sifo-Dyas green eyes.  He smiled into them, although his own eyes were still sad.  “To someone who understands the pain of knowing the future, wished to speak, did I.”

Sifo Dyas lay a hand on Yoda’s arm.  He also smiled, with weary empathy.  “Yes, I do understand.”

The two Jedi Masters then sat side by side in the garden, saying nothing more.

 

 

“You asked for me, Master Yoda?” Qui-Gon asked, striding into Yoda’s study.  “I am not in trouble again, am I?” he quipped, smiling, as he sat down on a cushion adjacent to the elder Jedi Master.

Yoda shook his head, as if the question had been serious.  “Leave, Master Dooku did, for Kubai this morning.  Supervise your probation, I will, until his return.”

Qui-Gon’s lighthearted expression abruptly changed, and he blinked in startled surprise.  “Thank you for telling me,” he said, curtly, then added, “And for agreeing to it.”

"Wish you do not, for _my_ supervision?” asked Yoda, stung.

Qui-Gon shook his head, apologetically, realizing he had offended.  “ _No_ , Master Yoda.  Not at all.  It’s just that… after the understanding we came to last night, I _would_ have thought he would have at least said goodbye, before leaving unexpectedly.”

“To wake you, no time did he have.  That he leave immediately, important it was.  Told him to do so, did I.”

“I understand.  Though I _was_ really hoping to see him again before he left for Kubai.  We enjoyed each other’s company, for a change.  I hope, when he returns in a few weeks, that it will continue.”  Qui-Gon smiled, ruefully, then added, “Who knows?  He may end up having more fondness for me, despite himself.”

 _Much pain will I cause, if succeed I do,_ Yoda thought, miserably, looking into Qui-Gon’s face, which was suffused with happiness.  _Finally, closer they are becoming, the long divided two; yet cleave them I must.  Never forgive me, neither of them would._

Qui-Gon interrupted his thoughts.  “Is there anything else, Master?  I must return to my rooms.  Phasianos is very messy to cook, and you _know_ Master Dooku did not volunteer to help clean up.  He conveniently forgets I am no longer his Padawan.  My kitchen is in _shambles_.”

“One thing only, there is.  A new mission for you soon I will have.”

Qui-Gon lifted his eyebrows.  “So soon after my _glorious_ success at Kakuno?  I am sure Master Za’kalles will _insist_ I take a vacation.”

“Not to go on any missions, she wishes of you, but those _exact_ words she would not use,” Yoda responded, dryly.  “But, well suited for this mission, you are.  And time off you will have, for not leave for almost two weeks would you.”

“What is it?”

“Not have all the details yet, do I; discuss it later with you, I will.  Observing Master Tikkon’s youngling class next week, am I.  Watch the lesson with me, you should, and discuss the mission after, we shall.”

Qui-Gon immediately saw through Yoda’s machinations.  His eyes widened, and he exclaimed, exasperatedly, “Not you, _too!_   No.  No.  _No._   I am _not_ taking a Padawan!”

“But, no harm there is, in looking only,” Yoda insisted.

“Yes, I quite agree,” Qui-Gon said, sardonically.  “There is no harm in looking.  But then you will try and talk me into _taking._ ”

Yoda looked offended at the suggestion.  “Do something like that, would I?”

_“Yes.”_

“So _weak_ willed are you, that one such as I, old and feeble—”

 _“Feeble?”_ Qui-Gon echoed, sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Yoda went on, ignoring him, “could force on you, something not wanted?”

“Well, no…”

“So no harm there is, in looking only!” concluded Yoda, triumphantly.

Qui-Gon shook his head in disgust, but he bit his lip so he would not smile.  He then looked warily at the ancient Jedi Master.  “Did Master Dooku put you up to this?”

“No,” Yoda said, uncomfortably.

Qui-Gon pointed an accusatory finger at him, with a knowing smile on his face.  “You are a _terrible_ liar, do you know that?  I _bet_ he did.  Ever since he chose that new Padawan, he won't rest until _I_ choose one, also.  Last night he almost drove me _insane,_ for now that he has found his ' _perfect Padawan'_ he wants me to share in his _'joy.'"_

“About this new Padawan, told you did he?” Yoda asked, affecting an idle curiosity.

Qui-Gon blew out his breath, with an exasperated laugh.  “I couldn’t get him _not_ to.  No matter how hard I tried to change the subject.  It was ‘Obi _this_ ’ and ‘Obi _that_.’  It was _nauseating._ If you ask me, I think my Master and Obi what’s-his-name are a perfect match.  The way my Master talks, that boy might as well be a _droid_.”

 _To his old Master, Qui-Gon would never cause hurt.  Never would Qui-Gon take a Padawan that his Master wanted._   But there had been that brief flash of vision, the young boy, standing alone in the dark, and the sound of Qui-Gon’s voice, “I am taking you as my Padawan.”  _How then possible this is?_ Yoda did not betray his own puzzled musings, but only asked, carelessly, “ _Exaggerating,_ surely must you be.  _Met_ him yet, have you?”

“Thankfully, _no._   But, I _unfortunately_ feel as if I already _have_.  Obi- _Perfect_ -Kenobi is brilliantly intelligent, has never had an unethical moment in his _life_ , and is totally and perfectly _unfeeling._   In other words, Master Dooku’s _dream_ Padawan.  I am sure the two of them went off to Kubai totally happily together, and I wish _good luck_ to them both.”  Qui-Gon shuddered in mock horror, laughing.

Yoda let Qui-Gon’s offhand comment suggesting Obi-Wan went with Dooku to Kubai pass.  “Still, come with me to observe Master Tikkon’s class, will you?”

“You _never_ give up, do you?  _Now_ I know where Dooku gets it!”

“To take a Padawan, such a _terrible_ thing would it be?”

“No,” Qui-Gon said, his expression now serious, “but to take a Padawan is a deep commitment.  It cannot be done halfway, with a divided heart and mind.  And I had thought to spend more time following the dictates of the Living Force, which I cannot easily do if I am the caretaker of a young one.  Besides, I have no doubt any Padawan _unfortunate_ enough to be chosen by _me_ would constantly be in trouble with the Council.”

“Hmmpf.  Your two former Padawans quite well they did.  One commended by the Senate he was, the other, soon perhaps on the Jedi Council she may sit.”

“ _Despite_ my training, you mean.”

“See it that way, I do not.”

“Aren’t you _conveniently_ forgetting that I am in disgrace?”

“If waited did I, for when not in trouble were you, then never take another Padawan will you.”

Despite himself, Qui-Gon had to laugh.  “I _will_ say no,” he insisted, although he was still smiling.  “But if I agree to go with you, just to _look_ ,” he admonished, “you have to _promise_ that when Dooku returns from Kubai, you will tell him all about it, so he gets out of my hair.  Speaking of which…” Qui-Gon straightened up, and, looking down his nose in aristocratic distain, barked, “‘ _Qui-Gon_ , you really _must_ cut it, for it is _far_ too long.  You are starting to look like a _Wookie_.’”  Qui-Gon’s imitation of Dooku was so perfect, Yoda had to laugh.

“Know of it, Dooku will,” Yoda promised, quietly, not meeting Qui-Gon’s eyes.

“Alright then, I’ll go,” Qui-Gon agreed amiably, shrugging.  “Although it will be a waste of time.”

“Perhaps,” Yoda agreed, “but _enjoy_ the lesson, also, I think you will.”

“Why?” Qui-Gon asked, suspiciously.  “What will Master Tikkon be teaching, anyway?”

Yoda smiled, mysteriously, “See you will.”

 

 

“Master Za’kalles,” said Yoda, stepping through the threshold of Za’kalles chamber, “sorry for the interruption, I am, but need to speak to you, I do.”

Za’kalles was seated at her desk across from Mace Windu, who, as newly elected to the Council, was often in her company during this time of training.

“Master Yoda,” she replied with a smile, while gesturing he should come in, “you know there is no need for you to apologize.  Besides, Master Windu was about to leave.”

At that, Mace Windu rose from his seat and bowed towards Yoda, to indicate his departure.

“No, no, stay you should, Master Windu.” Yoda said, indicating a chair closer to the wall for the young master, before climbing into the vacated seat across from Za’kalles.

Yoda settled into the chair with a tired sigh. “Master Za’kalles, an item to the agenda of tomorrow’s council session, wish to add, do I.” Mace Windu took out his datapad to add Yoda’s item, for it was his usual responsibility to prepare the agenda.

“Of course,” Za’kalles nodded.  “What do you wish to discuss?”

“This year, begin again the _Katharmos_ , I wish.”

Za’kalles lifted both her eyebrows, surprised.  “But the _Katharmos_ has not been practiced for over five hundred years!”

“Yes,” agreed Yoda.

“And your reasoning?” she asked, a little more sharply.

“In need of it, many younglings are,” Yoda replied.

“Excuse me, Masters,” Mace Windu interrupted, “but what _is_ the _Katharmos_?  I think I might have heard, or read, about it, years ago, something about it being controversial, but I cannot remember what.”

Za’kalles answered him.  “It is a very old tradition.  As I said, it has not been practiced for hundreds of years, although I believe this tradition goes back to the very beginning of the Order on Ossus.

“In the _Katharmos_ , younglings who have reached the age of thirteen, and not been chosen as a Padawan, go through a ‘rebirth’ ceremony, in which they are given a new name, to use until they are taken by a Master.”

“For what purpose?”

“The idea was that these younglings had not been chosen due to a character deficiency.  By discarding the old name, the youngling’s self-conception, with all its flaws, would be cast away as well.  The new name would then signify the freedom to create a new idea of the self, without the old faults.  It was thought that in this way, the youngling would more likely to be chosen.  _But,_ although the ritual had been started with the best of intentions, it had degraded, over time, to something close to a punishment.  Many Masters considered the _Katharmos_ too humiliating, and thus the practice was abandoned.”  Za’kalles gave Yoda a pointed look, and then added, “Master Yoda, if I remember correctly, weren’t _you_ on the Council when this was decided?”

“Yes, on the Council was I,” Yoda admitted, grimacing slightly.  He had forgotten what a good historian Za’kalles was.

“And, wasn’t it at _your_ instigation that the _Katharmos_ was abandoned?”

“Wrong, perhaps I was.  Either way, needed now it is.”

“I _presume_ you would wish to have all the thirteen year olds participate, just as it had used to be done?”

“No, also need to attend, some twelve year olds do.”

“But, as you know, the reason why only the thirteen year olds underwent the _Katharmos_ is that many younglings are not chosen until towards the end of their twelfth year,” Za’kalles said, irritably.  “Most, if not all, of the twelve year olds will be chosen before they turn thirteen.”

“Yes,” Yoda agreed, obdurately.  “Yet, in need of the _Katharmos,_ some twelve year olds are.  Whether or not chosen before turning thirteen they would be, not important it is.”

“ _Which_ twelve year olds?” Za’kalles asked, with asperity.

“Discuss it, I would, with the other youngling instructors. Decide together, we should.”

She shook her head.  “I do not think it necessary to reestablish this humiliating tradition.”

“Vote on this, I would ask of the Council.”

Za’kalles could not imagine why Yoda would suddenly change his mind about this ceremony, as it was his own writings that had convinced her the _Katharmos_ caused more harm than healing. _Perhaps he has another reason for wanting to reinstate this tradition.  But I cannot imagine what it is._ “I will not oppose putting it on the agenda for tomorrow.  But, I will _not_ vote in favor of it.”

“Thank you, Master Za’kalles,” Yoda said, bowing his head courteously.  He then climbed down from his chair.  “Excuse me please, if you would, Masters?  A class to teach, soon I have.”

“ _Certainly_ , Master Yoda,” Za’kalles said, somewhat brusquely.

Mace Windu also rose from his chair, and bowed respectfully.  “May the Force be with you,” he said, awkwardly.  He had been uncomfortable witnessing this disagreement between the two senior members of the Council, and was reluctant to remind them of his presence.

Yoda bowed in reply, “With you, as well.  _Both_ of you,” he added, giving Za’kalles a small smile before departing.

 

The chamber was very dark, for it was deep below ground, in the very oldest part of the Temple.  The only light was from oil-dipped torches, whose flickering light did not illuminate all the corners of the room, and much was still in shadow.

Yoda sighed, fighting off deep fatigue, for the ceremony was stretching late into the night.  Seventy younglings had already been before Yoda and given new names.  Despite Za’kalles’ disapproval of the ceremony, she had asked him if he would like her to take his place in the center of the room, but he had refused.

Yoda would share with no others his guilt.

 _His_ guilt.  He closed his eyes for a moment.  He would not think of Dooku, whom he loved.

The last five younglings entered the room, bowing to him before taking their places in the circle around him, and turned their faces to him, expectantly.  He had specifically asked these five, the youngest of those participating in the _Katharmos_ , to be sent in last.

A beat on the drum sounded, the call for the first of the five younglings to come forward.

He was a very tall boy, heavy without being fat, with thick dark brows.  His face was placid, but set in stubbornness.  His name was Kir.

“ _Da,”_ Yoda intoned, in the ancient dead language of Ossus, before continuing to recite the ritual in Basic, “or Earth, the mother of all life, the most stable and patient of all elements.  It is the element on which all others depend, the element of the physical body, and the element of unyielding strength.  It is the element of the servant, for it is a humble element, giving without asking in return.  Yet, those given to earth are not only servants, but sometimes slaves, slaves to their own flesh, to their own fixed beliefs, and to mindless obedience.”

Kir got down on his knees on the stone step before Yoda, lowering his head, to receive the Master’s blessing.  “I would have a new name,” he said, dully, reciting the ancient ritual words.  “I would be reborn.”

“Not _Kir_ , but _Phaios_ you will be,” Yoda said, gently, laying his hands upon the boy’s glossy dark hair.  “Forget all you think you know.  For there is no unchanging self.”

The boy, now Phaios, or “Light,” rose from his kneel and rejoined the circle.

The sound of the drum reverberated, and another youngling, Anissa, stepped forward.  She was also tall, but very thin, with an aristocratic and haughty profile, as if it had been delicately chiseled.  In her gray eyes there was distain stemming from the humiliation of having been chosen.

 _“Stagon,”_ recited Yoda, again in the ancient language, “or Metal, the element of mastery.  From metal are the tools fashioned to master all other elements, the plows in the earth, the ships that sail on the seas, and the crafts that rise into the sky.  Even fire does not consume it, but creates it anew.  There is no civilization without bright metal, born from the womb of earth.  But this element will yield to nothing; it is the weapon of war, the tool of death, and the instrument of power over others.  Sharp of edge yet brittle and easily shattered, it can be the element of greatest cruelty.”

With a second’s hesitation, Anissa went down on her knees, but she did not fully bow her head.  “I would have a new name,” she stated, coolly, but not with sincerity.  “I would be reborn.”

Yoda shook his head to himself, but, other than that, ignored her defiance.  “Not _Anissa_ , but _Melitta_ you will be.”  He looked into her eyes.  “Forget all you think you know.  For there is no unchanging self.”

Her eyes widened at the name, for Yoda had called her “sweetness.”  She rose, disconcerted, and then stepped aside for the next youngling.

With the sounding of the drum, another girl, Bellona, stepped forward.  But, where the last girl was hard, this one was soft, for every emotion could be seen in her expressive face.  She was not truly beautiful, for her features were too large for her face, but that was easily forgotten, for her eyes were truly astonishing, large, green-brown, and framed by thick black lashes.

“ _Ekcheo,”_ stated Yoda, looking intently into those mysterious eyes, “or Water _,_ the element from which all things come, and to which all things return.  The element of combining things together, for it binds even distant sky and dark earth as rain.  The element of love, for it seeps deeply into all things and has no limit to its depths.  It is also a deceiving element, for it is without a single form, the element of utter attachment as it pervades everything, and nothing escapes its relentless pull.”

Bellona knelt before Yoda.  “I would have a new name,” she said, huskily, looking down.  “I would be reborn.”

“Not _Bellona_ , but _Atana_ you will be,” said Yoda, very softly, touching her dark head lightly.  His hands lingered on her for a moment, for he had true affection for her.  _Forgive me, I hope you will, daughter, for the_ _part to you I must give, in what is to come._   After dismissing his distracting thoughts, Yoda continued, “Forget all you think you know.  For there is no unchanging self.”

The young girl, now “spirit of wisdom,” looked up at Yoda and smiled, her wet eyes flashing gold and green in the torchlight like rare jewels.  She ducked her head again, smiling, before stepping away to rejoin the others.

The next youngling, red-haired Mataios, bristled with barely contained anger, as he deliberately stepped forward out of sync with the beating drum.  His light eyes viewed the scene before him as a challenge.

 _“Xulopuria,”_ said Yoda, hiding a smile at the appropriateness of the word, “or Fire, the most pure of all elements.  It is the element of protection, from both the darkness and the cold.  It is the element of change and purification, the cleansing element of righteous anger.  But, it is also the element of rash destruction, anger, aggression, and violence.”

Mataios’ red hair seemed ablaze in the torchlight as he knelt before Yoda with resentment in his eyes.  “I would have a new name,” he said, sullenly.  “I would be reborn.”

“Not _Mataios_ , but _Sophros_ you will be,” Yoda said, smiling at him.

Sophros smiled crookedly, almost despite himself, at the meaning of his new name, “temperance.”

Yoda went on, “Forget all you think you know. For there is no unchanging self.”

The boy rose to his feet with a stiff bow of thanks, but he was still smiling, bemusedly, as he rejoined the circle.

The final youngling, a small boy, stepped forward in graceful accord with the steady drum.

 _“Euaes,”_ Yoda whispered, as if only to himself, “or Air, the final and most rare of the elements, the one least attached to things of this world.  It is the element of utter clarity, of clear thought untouched and untrammeled by distracting passions, like the cold current of air in the lofty mountains.  It is the breath of life that goes into the body and then out again, never becoming incorporated into the flesh.  But, it is also the element of non-reaction and of indifference, passing over all things as the breath of wind.  It is the void and darkness of space.”

This boy was truly of air, calm and utterly self possessed, without emotion.  There was no shame in his face at being chosen for this ceremony.  Yet, how could he not have been humiliated?  He was, as all his teachers attested, a most exceptional student, not only gifted, but disciplined.  Yet, he had been singled out for his errors, called to this ceremony, while many other students, far less gifted and less dedicated, had not.  Though he must have seethed inwardly at the injustice, his face betrayed nothing.

His blonde hair gleamed in the torchlight, lustrous even in that dark room.  He knelt, gracefully, before the elder Master, and looked directly into Yoda’s eyes.  The boy’s eyes were dazzling, very blue but also pellucid, transparently clear.  Yoda could see into their depths, like a precious crystalline mineral, but, like his face, they revealed no emotion.

 _Remake the galaxy in his own image, this one would?_   Yoda asked himself.  _No, not yet that person is he.  A gifted boy, but only a boy, he still is.  Chosen, his path is not._

“I would have a new name,” he said, calmly.  “I would be reborn.”

Yoda smiled, gently.  He did not immediately speak the ritual words, instead looked quietly into the boy’s eyes.

“ _Would_ you, my son?” Yoda finally asked, softly.

If the boy was startled by the change from the ritual form, he did not show it.  But there was a flicker of emotion in his face, impossible to define.  It passed so rapidly Yoda could not be sure he had not imagined it.

“I would have a new name.  I would be reborn,” the boy repeated, this time a little more hesitantly, but still clearly.

Yoda reached out his hands and placed it on the boy’s fair head, closing his eyes.

Prior to this night, Yoda had picked a most suitable name for him, as he had for the others.  But now, when it was time to pronounce it, Yoda hesitated.

For into his mind returned the vision he had seen of the young grieving mother holding her child in her arms, not singing to soothe him, but only rocking him back and forth, her eyes dark with pain.  It was that child which was before him now.

“ _Ben,”_ murmured Yoda, his eyes still closed.

Yoda then opened his eyes, and, seeing the boy, felt a wetness in them, unbidden tears for the young girl, and perhaps also her son.

“ _Ben_.” Yoda repeated, wondrously.  “Not _Obi-Wan_ , but _Ben_ will you be.”  Yoda’s voice was low with emotion.  “Forget all you think you know.  For there is no unchanging self.”

Ben made no reaction to his new name, although it was an odd choice when compared to the ones the other younglings had received.  He simply bowed his head in acknowledgement before rising gracefully to step back into his place in the circle.

“Go in peace, my children,” Yoda pronounced, solemnly, to the five younglings, dismissing them, “and grow strong in the way of the Force.”

They each bowed, in turn, to the Jedi Master as they left the room.  Ben, the final youngling in line, bowed with exquisite beauty of form before following after the others.

Yoda watched the younglings proceed from the room, until Ben’s blond head was out of sight.  With the ceremony finally at an end, Yoda was alone in the dark room.  He sighed.  The pieces of his plan were set.  All would depend on Qui-Gon, and the boy now called Ben.

 


End file.
